Into the Light
by Aggie2011
Summary: One selfless act of kindness, witnessed from the shadows, and Porthos resolved to be a better man. Also known as, the moment Porthos made the life changing decision to leave the Court of Miracles behind. Entry into January 2018's Fete des Mousquetaires Challenge *Darkness to Dawn Universe**UPDATE* link is currently working - let me know if it goes dead again


_Disclaimer: I do not own the Musketeers or any of the characters affiliated with them. If I did, it would never have been cancelled and there would have been way more episodes about Aramis ;)_

 _Author's Note: While I embrace_ ** _constructive_** _criticism remember this old saying if you choose to leave a review "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all"_

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 _*laughs with a thread of hysteria* let's try this again. Maybe today this will work. If you tried to read this yesterday and the link didn't work, I'm sorry. I emailed support and of course got no reply. I'm gonna call it a glitch and hope that it's fixed today. If you DID read this yesterday during one of the brief times it was available and left a review, I would deeply appreciate it if you left me your thoughts again._

 _So here is my entry for January's Fete des Mousquetaires challenge! The challenge was "light". I have this headcanon about how Porthos came to the decision to leave the Court and join the military. This moment of decision was mentioned in my long fic "In the Darkness is Born the Dawn" and is coming to live in real time here!_

 _Enjoy!_

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 _Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.  
_ ** _Martin Luther King, Jr._**

* * *

 _May 1622_

* * *

Porthos had always thought it interesting how the most important days of your life always started just the same as any other.

Those most significant days always seemed completely ordinary until, without warning, they weren't. Suddenly, a regular Tuesday turned into the day he lost his mum and became an orphan. An ordinary Sunday became the day he met Charon, and a normal Friday the day Flea burst into his life. Those life-changing days gave no warning – they just swooped in and left things irrevocably changed.

* * *

The day began as any ordinary Thursday.

Porthos stretched lazily, blinking blearily into the early morning sun as it peeked around the threadbare curtain in his and Flea's small room. He rubbed at his eyes and eased her arm off his chest, shifting away and sitting on the edge. Behind him, Flea shifted to where he'd been laying, curling into the warmth he left behind.

He rolled his neck and stood, padding over to the window and shoving the curtain aside. He pushed the cracked glass open and leaned out, bracing his arms on the sill and looking out over the Court as it came alive below.

As he watched the people start to rise and mill around, he released a heavy breath.

Every day, the same. The same starving people. The same penniless life.

When he was a child, he had thought this life an adventure. He dreamed of growing to be as daring as Jesse, the pickpocket who had trained him. He had fantasized of ruling the Court – of being the _king_ here.

He could have that fantasy now if he wanted it. But now that it was within his grasp, Porthos found it all so…hollow.

What life was this? Scrounging for food every day; stealing as a trade; people dying almost daily because they had no food or doctors.

As he stared out over the courtyard below, he found himself yearning, inexplicably, for something _more_. The same yearning he'd felt for months now.

This life couldn't be all there was for him.

 _Could it?_

He heard Flea stirring and turned, bracing one elbow on the window as he looked back at her.

"I can hear your thoughts tumbling around from here," she teased sleepily as she brushed her hair out of her face and stretched. "What are you thinking about so hard this early in the morning?"

He smiled wanly and didn't answer, instead glancing back out the window.

He heard her sigh.

"Daydreaming of a fanciful life again?" she asked with a hint of bitter frustration.

"Not fanciful… Just different," he corrected quietly. He knew she didn't share his discontent and she had never been one to mince her words. "Don't you think we could have more than this? _Different_ than this?"

She sat up and turned to face him across the room.

"What's so wrong with this life? It's _ours_ at least – not some made up dream."

"You used to think dreaming was a good thing," he pointed out.

She shook her head and stood, crossing the room to wrap her arms around him. She stared up at him with her big blue eyes and spoke softly.

"That was before I _grew_ up, Porthos. We were _children_ then and didn't know any better. _This_ is our life now. This is what we have. It's not so terrible, is it? Isn't it enough for you?" she asked quietly.

Porthos wrapped his arms around her in return, resting his chin on her head and closing his eyes.

And his heart whispered,

 _No._

* * *

Porthos ducked into a shadowed alley, leaning against the stone wall and patting down his pockets. He didn't dare count his pilfered riches in the open, but judging by the weight of his pockets, he'd made a descent haul today.

He rubbed an apple – recently liberated from a nearby cart – against his shirt and then took a large bite. He remained in the shadow and watched the market square as people moved about. It would be dusk soon and he'd head back to the Court to combine his bounty with the others to be distributed amongst the ruling clans. He, Flea, and Charon were all part of the pickpocket crew, tasked to different parts of the city so as never to be seen together. Tomorrow, he'd work where Charon had today and the next day, where another of their crew – Alan – had worked, and so on. If they kept a good rotation they rarely got recognized.

He took another bite of his apple, narrowing his gaze curiously as he saw two little children creeping along the edge of the market square.

The boy was small, made of nothing but skin and bone and too little for the clothes that hung from his frame. The girl was taller but no more nourished and she kept a white knuckled grip on the boy's hand as they crept towards the same fruit cart Porthos had nicked his apple from.

He didn't recognize them so he doubted they were children from the Court. Orphans, though, he would guess – perhaps freshly so. His chest squeezed in sympathy as he watched the little boy's tongue dart out to lick his lips as his wide eyes took in all the fruits on the cart.

They were starving, that much was clear. His heart pulled as he watched them. He knew what it was to be that hungry. But there was an art to thieving, and creeping up all doe eyed and nervous wasn't it. They were going to be caught.

He pushed off the alley wall, not yet sure what he could or would do. Much of his success relied on drawing as little attention as possible. Storming up to them with all eyes watching would only invite curiosity concerning what a man like him was doing in this part of the city.

As he stood undecided, the girl reached for a fruit. The little boy clung, wide eyed, to her arm.

And the cart owner turned.

Porthos' breath caught, watching the owner's eyes widen in anger while the children's did the same in fear.

"Thief!" The owner shouted, lunging towards them with a raised hand.

The little girl screeched in fear, curling protectively over the boy and squeezing her eyes closed, waiting for the blow to land.

But it never did.

Porthos blinked and a man was there, catching the owner's arm and neatly inserting himself between the irate man and the children. This new arrival was young, certainly no older than Porthos. His dark hair fell in unruly waves to the base of his neck and a light gray hat sat rakishly-angled atop his head, keeping it all in check. But what stood out the most was the deep blue cloak draped over one shoulder and the ornate leather pauldron resting on the other.

A Musketeer.

Porthos retreated further into the shadows, suddenly wary. The Musketeers had not been around but perhaps two years, but already their reputation had spread. Men of honor, they were. Warriors. The king's elite guard and protectors of justice.

The soldier would surely arrest the children and take them to a workhouse now. That was the way things usually worked. It was what the Red Guard had always done.

But the young soldier smiled, a snake charmer grin that gave an illusion of geniality but did little to hide the lethal edge hidden beneath. His attention was fixed on the cart owner, not the children. He had nudged them behind him instead, almost…shielding them.

"Good afternoon, Monsieur," the Musketeer greeted brightly. Porthos marveled at his tone. On the surface he sounded friendly and cheerful, but there was an edge hidden just below that served as clear warning that he was _not_ a man to be tested. "You must have lost your balance because you surely didn't intend to strike these children."

And though the smile remained, the Musketeer had not released the cart owner's wrist.

"They were stealing from my cart," the man argued, trying and failing to liberate his arm.

"Did they? A fruit was it? Here." The Musketeer retrieved a coin from a pouch on his belt and pressed into the hand attached to the arm he still held captive. "Now you've been compensated."

The cart owner closed his fist around the coin, but he still frowned angrily. The soldier's eyebrow arched in challenge.

"Do Musketeers condone thieving now?" the cart owner demanded, trying to pull his arm away again. The soldier held firm for a moment longer before releasing him, smiling widely again but with clear warning in his brown eyes.

"I condone mercy," the soldier shot back. "And compassion. Perhaps you've heard of such things?"

Porthos snorted when the cart owner's face colored in embarrassment.

"You've been paid," the soldier reminded. "Let the matter rest and continue about your business."

"What about the two of them?" the cart owner jerked his chin at the children cowering behind the soldier.

"What about them? You have your money so the only thing they're guilty of is being hungry."

The cart owner scowled and started to turn away, but the soldier caught his arm.

"The fruit?" he prodded. "They never got their fruit and I did pay you after all. Wouldn't want you to be accused of _thieving."_

Porthos swallowed at the simmering fury wrapped up in the final word.

The cart owner grudgingly handed over the fruit the girl had been reaching for.

The Musketeer smiled brightly and turned his back on the man, shuffling the children a bit away from the cart and consequently closer to Porthos. He sunk deeper into the shadows and watched.

The soldier knelt before the children, handing over the fruit.

"Mother and father?" he asked gently.

The little girl just shook her head. Deep compassion swelled in the soldier's eyes and he gave them a kind smile. This one was nothing like the grin he had given the cart owner. This one was nothing but warmth and empathy. Both children seemed to unwittingly drift a bit closer to the soldier, as drawn to that smile as Porthos suddenly felt.

What kind of man was this? To go from the cold fury Porthos had just seen to this soft, endearing warmth? How could one man ever possess such opposite traits?

"Do you know the old church near the Musketeer Garrison?" the soldier asked.

The girl nodded.

"The woman who works there loves to look after little ones. Go there, tell her I sent you. She'll make sure you never go hungry again. But to be sure, take this…"

Porthos watched, mouth dropping open as the soldier handed over his entire coin pouch.

"It's not much, but it'll get you through in a pinch," the Musketeer assured with a wink.

The children's eyes were wide and round, staring at him in awed adoration.

"Who should we say sent us?" the little boy asked almost too quietly for Porthos to hear.

He found himself shifting a step forward, surprisingly interested to hear the answer. He stepped out of the shadow of his alley as he watched the soldier sweep his hat off his head and press it to his chest, bowing his head in formal greeting.

"The Musketeer Ar-"

Porthos started back a step as a horse and rider pranced across the mouth of the alley he had hidden himself in. He regained his ground as soon as the horse passed, hoping he hadn't missed it.

"- at your service," the soldier finished brightly. "Now off you go. No more thieving, though, promise me."

They both nodded earnestly and scampered away. The Musketeer rose, adjusting his weapons belt as he watched them go. Then he swept a hand up into his hair to push it back away from his face and fitted his hat firmly back into place.

He stiffened then, head turning away as if hearing a call. Then he raised a hand in greeting and started across the market, blue cloak billowing behind him. Porthos shifted and saw another Musketeer walking to meet him.

With each step the soldier took away from Porthos' alley, the weight of the stolen coin in his pockets grew heavier and heavier. Porthos retreated into the shadows once again, pressing himself against the wall.

What kind of man was he?

Pockets full of coins and he had hesitated in the shadows, unwilling to expose himself even for the sake of children. And this stranger, this soldier with dark, kind eyes, had done what Porthos wouldn't.

And then to give them all his money?

Porthos didn't know a man could even possess such a generous spirit. He had surely never seen such a thing before.

Had he not been so tied to the shadows, so dependent on them, he would have done the same.

 _Wouldn't he?_

The coins in his pockets grew even heavier and seemed to mock him with the truth he didn't want to admit: that he wouldn't have. That coin was too valuable to him and to the people in the Court. That if he had given away his entire collection for the day, the others would have been furious.

What _life_ was this?

Not the one he wanted. He knew that with sudden clarity. He wanted to be _free_ of the shadows.

And suddenly he knew what he had to do. He knew his path.

The infantry wasn't picky. They would take any man willing to pull his weight.

He could build a new life there – as a soldier. He had always been a good fighter and what he didn't know, he would _learn._

He would become the kind of man who stood as a shield in front of children.

He would become the kind of man willing to give up his money to those who needed it more.

He would become better than he was.

Drawing in a deep breath, Porthos pushed off the alley wall. With a newfound spring of hope bubbling in his chest, he stepped out of the shadows...and into the light.

* * *

 _End of Into the Light_

 _Short, but hopefully poignant. Porthos and Aramis were always meant to find each other, one way or another._

 _Be sure to go check out the rest of the entries into this month's challenge and vote for your favorites! If you feel like sharing your thoughts, drop me a line and let me know how you liked this :) If you did that on one of the previous FOUR times I've tried to post this fic yesterday, please do so again for the sake of my poor writer's heart haha_

 _Until next time!_


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